


things i almost remember

by ohhotlamb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Underage Drinking, there's a lot of barf talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't wanted his evening to go this way. He didn't want to be here, stuck in a frat house's bathroom with some other drunk moron as they take turns barfing into the single toilet. But the guy actually wasn't all that bad, and he almost seemed familiar, somehow. </p><p>When Hajime was ten years old, his best friend had been a boy named Tooru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things i almost remember

“Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan!”

Try as he might to suppress it, to pretend to be annoyed, that little word never failed to make Hajime feel warmer from the inside. To his ten-year-old self, that nickname was special, because only one person in the whole world was more-or-less allowed to call him that. And that person was Tooru.

“Lemme sleep over tonight! My mom rented ‘Super Ninja Alien Defense Squad!’ and I wanna watch it with you!” Tooru crows, wiggles with excitement, practically jumps up and down. Hajime does his best to look put off.

“Don’t you ever get tired of that crap? It’s so obviously fake. And the effects are cheap.”

Tooru groans, rolls his eyes. “That’s the _point,_ Iwa-chan! It’s so bad it’s good! So am I coming over or not?”

Hajime doesn’t even think the word before the “yes” is spilling of his mouth so fast it actually startles him. Because he knows he would say anything if it meant he got to see that smile, the one with the hole where one of Tooru's eye teeth used to be, the new one just peeking out of his gums.

The truth was, Hajime was worried. As he grew older, as he watched more movies and read more books and finally took notice of the couples sitting so close to each other on the train, he grew to realize that Tooru was someone he loved in a different way than the way he loved his parents.

It was troublesome because during sleepovers, especially in the colder months, Tooru always wanted to sleep next to Hajime. And it was December. He would definitely find a way to get Hajime lying next to him some way or another. And he usually made Hajime sleep in the guest futon with him, because he insisted that futons were more fun than regular beds.

When they were whispering to each other in the dark, when Tooru was waving his hands excitedly about ninja alien defense squads, the urge to be closer, to touch his face, to see what it would be like to kiss him soundly on the lips was becoming stronger with each passing day.

When Hajime was ten years old, his best friend had been a boy named Tooru.

 

~*~

 

Parties aren't his thing. And it's not because he's antisocial—he's actually surprisingly good with people. He's been told that his sarcastic brand of humor is funny, that he has a certain charisma. But more than one crappy incident, usually involving running down the street away from police sirens without his shoes, Lev laughing maniacally beside him, made him swear off partying a long time ago. So Hajime doesn’t know how he got conned into this. And he’s even more confused about how he’s here now, in the filthy basement bathroom of a frat house, heaving into a toilet bowl and completely hating his life.

He knows for the most part, it was Lev’s fault, as per usual. He had wanted to take Kenma to his first college party, and he insisted that Hajime go as well so that the newbie would feel more comfortable. But he hadn’t mentioned that he would be near-shoving various toxicities of alcohol down Hajime’s throat until he was so drunk he began reaching for the bottle himself. So _technically_ it was his own fault. But over his dead body would he admit that to anybody.

He wipes the clammy sweat off his forehead; he’s so hot, and his body feels infuriatingly slow and lethargic. It's not a good feeling—in fact, he feels like absolute shit. He’s probably going to die here, kneeling on the floor that’s crawling with god-knows-what, all alone and wishing he had a way to pump his stomach.

He flushes the toilet and sits back on his heels, closes his eyes and takes deep, cleansing breaths. He has no idea where Lev _or_ Kenma were. The last time he saw them, Lev was sucking salt and tequila out of a girl’s bellybutton, and Kenma was trying not to roll his eyes as a tall guy with absolutely horrible bed-hair made poor attempts at persuading him to dance.

He thinks it’s getting pretty late, maybe around two in the morning. Now seems like good time to start brainstorming the best way to get himself home with all his parts fully intact. From past experience, as long as he doesn’t drink anymore, he should start sobering up soon. Hopefully it’ll be enough to where he'll be able to walk down the sidewalk in a somewhat-straight line. 

Hajime opens his eyes as he hears a sudden thump, and he blurrily zeros in on a sudden additional occupant of the bathroom. Hajime can tell right away that this guy’s totally wasted—his cheeks are a high red, and his eyes are glassy and he’s smiling that signature drunk-person smile, lazy and unfocused.

“Erg…do…do you think we—hrmph—could share?” the guy slurs, has to stop and swallow down burps as he speaks. He's holding onto the doorframe to steady himself, but he's not doing a very good job. Even standing, he looks like he's on the deck of a ship in turbulent waters, swaying side to side, his breaths slightly labored. Upon further inspection, he actually looks a little green, which fits nicely into Hajime's stuck-at-sea metaphor. 

He's just staring at Hajime with that dumb smile on his face, and Hajime realizes he should probably answer. But he has no idea what this guy's talking about. What does he want to share? He glances around, for a bowl of snacks or bottle of alcohol he might have overlooked, but there's nothing. He frowns, follows the guy's hopeful, longing gaze, and he ends up staring incredulously at the very toilet he's kneeling in front of. He nearly laughs. “Share _this_? The fucking toilet that I’ve been puking my guts into?”

At that the boy groans, sways as if a particularly harsh wave has just smacked into his hull and he sinks into the wall. “Don’t say that word," he whispers, eyes fluttering, his skin becoming paler and paler by the second.

Hajime furrows his brows. “What word? Puke?”

“ _Move over!”_

And Hajime gets a firm push into his shoulder and he flops to the side into the wastebasket next to the wall, and then he’s staring hazily at the boy who’s now keening into the toilet bowl, sounding like he’s trying to summon up a demon from hell. His fingers are clenching the rim, pale skin pulled taut and bone-white, and once he’s done he lets out a little sob.

“Nnng, ow, my throat burns...” he whimpers, gracelessly falls down on his ass and wipes his mouth off on the back of his wrist.

Hajime wrinkles his nose at the sour smell that’s now hanging in the air. “Dude, you gotta flush. That’s fucking nasty.” He covers his nose with his sleeve, his stomach beginning to roil again just watching this poor sack of booze struggling to stay conscious.

“Mmm, yeah, okay. I will. I can do…that. Yeah.” He sighs out a big breath, and he swallows before reaching his hand out for the toilet handle.  “It’s so…far away…” he mewls, his fingers wavering and Hajime rolls his eyes. 

“Lazy piece of shit," he growls, lurches forward in an enormous display of will power and slams the handle down, and the sound of fresh water flowing down makes him feel marginally better. He sits back, his head spinning only a little bit and he's pretending to not be slightly winded.

The guy whimpers again. “Oh, my god. I hate myself. I hate myself.”

Hajime turns slowly, watches his comrade in drunkenness curl up in on himself on the floor, arms wrapped around his middle. He observes him through heavy eyes, as the boy sways even as he’s sitting down, as he repetitively smacks his tongue against his lips, like he's checking to make sure it’s still there. He looks kind of familiar, for some reason.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess. How much did you have?” Hajime rests his head against the wall, the sound of the blasting music causing unpleasant vibrations to pound through his skull but he doesn’t have the strength to move from this spot.

“I don’t…even know. Tetsurou knows I can’t have as much as him, but he kept making me do shots. And—and I felt fine, at first. And then we got here, and I started feeling…sick. And I threw…threw up.” He suddenly gasps in horror. “I think I threw up in someone’s hair.”

Hajime stares at him, at his brown eyes widened in horror, the mess of hair on top of his head and the moisture above his upper lip and then he _loses it._ He’s wheezing, laughing so hard he’s continuously banging his head into the wall behind his head but he can’t stop, every time he thinks he can get himself together he remembers that idiotic face and he’s a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

Hajime cracks his eyes open to find the boy leaning into his space, frowning so hard he’s got a mass of wrinkles in his forehead and chin and Hajime barks out another laugh right into his face. He grimaces, leans back and has to brace himself against the wall before he sits himself down again. “You smell bad," he gripes, his eyes narrowed like he’s personally offended by this.

Hajime hiccups his way to a stop, wipes the fresh tears from his eyes and he sighs. “You don’t smell like a spring daisy either.” He tips his head back thoughtfully, runs his tongue experimentally over his teeth and his lip curls. “Ugh. What I wouldn’t give for a toothbrush right now.” He eyes his companion, who’s currently breathing through his mouth and consequently polluting their air supply. “On second thought, make that two.”

“I want to go to bed," the boy keens, his eyes fluttering shut and Hajime gets no further warning before he slumps heavily onto the floor, his head making a solid thump against the bathroom tile and Hajime winces on his behalf.  “Ahh, it’s so cold…” the boy coos, presses his cheek more into the floor and Hajime swallows down the foul-tasting saliva pooling in his mouth.

“You can’t sleep on the fucking bathroom floor. This frat is nasty. You’re gonna get chlamydia.”

“I don’t caaare. Let me sleep, stranger," he moans before becoming quiet, his breaths ragged and his mouth hanging open, a film of sweat covering his face.

“Oi, wake up.” Hajime nudges the boy’s side with his shoe and gets a gurgle in response. He frowns.

After throwing up most of the contents of his stomach (which Hajime is ashamed to say included probably more alcohol than the liquor cabinet in his parent’s house) his nausea has mostly passed, and the room isn’t tilting so much on it axis anymore and the fire-red of his cheeks has somewhat cooled down.  He’s sobered enough to see that his bathroom cohort isn’t going to be walking out of this building on his own two feet.

He barely startles at the sound of someone knocking once on the bathroom door before it’s opened by a burly frat guy, clearly intoxicated like everyone else and he stares first to the boy’s almost-corpse on the floor and then to an exhausted and sobering Hajime.

“Hey, the party’s closing down. You guys need to go home.”

Hajime blinks, turns and nudges the boy again with the toe of his shoe. No response.

“I think this one’s passed out.”

The guy shrugs, sways for a moment then steadies himself on the doorframe. “Not my problem. He needs to leave.”

Hajime sighs, rubs his burning eyes with his knuckles. “Fine.”

And then they’re alone again, and Hajime feels out his body before he sits himself up, crawls over and shakes the guy’s shoulder. “Hey, we need the leave. The party’s over.”

But he's out stone-cold, and Hajime rolls his eyes, feels the boy’s forehead. It’s somewhat cool because of the sweat, but underneath his skin is on fire. Just to be sure, he feels along under his jaw with two fingers until he finds the heavy, steady thrumming of a heartbeat. So he’s not dead at least. That’s good.

The next thing Hajime does is delicately extract the phone from the guy’s pants pocket, and he’s eternally grateful that there’s no passcode. On the home screen he notices there are several new texts, and he’s surprised that to a certain degree he recognizes one of the names: Kuroo Tetsurou. So that’s the Tetsurou this guy had been yapping about, huh? It’s a short message, and upon reading it Hajime grinds his teeth together in irritation.

_found a cutie don wait for me_

He groans. “Oh, you've gotta be _kidding me._ ”  

Getting this guy home with no one he knew left at the party was going to be a pain in the ass. If they live through this, the first thing he’s gonna do tomorrow is find this Kuroo guy and choke him to death with his own intestines. He opens up the messages app, and looks to the other unread message, from someone simply called “Kou-chan”.

_I hope you’re having a fun night! Just a reminder to pay the electric bill tomorrow. See you Sunday!_

This text likely came from a roommate. He didn’t like the sound of that “see you Sunday!"; it sounded like this person wasn't even in town, but what other choice did Hajime have? He didn’t even know this kid’s name. Getting in contact with this 'Kou-chan' was the only reasonable shot he had.

He finds the name in the contacts list and presses the number to call. He holds the phone to his ear, knawing his lip and silently praying even though he’s knows it’s a long shot—it’s nearly two in the morning and he doubted that Kou-chan was one to stay up past eleven.

After an agonizing few seconds the ringing stops to be replaced by the sound of messy static noises, and then he hears a sleepy sigh and an even sleepier, “Hello? Tooru?”

Ah, so this guy’s name was Tooru. The sound of that name spoken by someone else causes overwhelming nostalgia to rise up in his chest, and he forces it back down.

“Hey, is this…er, _Kou-chan?”_

There’s a few seconds of silence before the person replies, sounding infinitesimally more awake. “This is Sugawara Koushi. Who is this?”

“Uh, my name’s Iwaizumi. There’s this guy here, and he’s totally passed out at a party and he needs help getting home. He’s got you on his phone as 'Kou-chan', and he’s got brown hair and he's wearing this sweater...thing.”

There’s a pause, and then a pained whine. “Oh, Tooru, _you idiot_.” Hajime waits as they mumble a few more choice insults before they sigh into the phone. “That’s my roommate, Tooru. Thank you for calling me. Is he okay?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s kinda knocked out, but I think I could wake him up if I needed to. His skin's not blue or anything, so I don’t think he’ll die. Can you come pick him up?”

Hajime can hear as they hesitate, then sigh regretfully. “Unfortunately, I’m home for the weekend, and I live four hours away from campus.”

“Shit.”

“But! There should be another person on his contacts you can call, his name’s Kuroo Tet—“

“Yeah, Sleeping Beauty already got a text from him. He’s occupied for the evening, if you catch my drift.”

“He left Tooru alone? When he was _drunk?”_

“Looks like it.”

The man over the phone all but growls. “Oh, I’m going to _murder_ him. Okay, well. Um, Iwaizumi-san. If you called a taxi, to take Tooru home, I would be more than happy to pay you for your trouble, if you just give me your phone number, on Sunday when I get back I’ll call you—“

Hajime cuts him off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I can take him home. Don’t bother with that other stuff.”

And he actually means it. For one, his conscience wouldn’t allow it—he can practically _hear_ his mother tsk-ing in his ear at the thought. And second, a part of him has already grown weirdly fond of Tooru (being nauseous together creates one of the fastest and strongest bonds forged, Hajime thinks) and there’s no way he’s letting him out of his sight until he knows he’s somewhere safe.

Sugawara makes a noise of surprise. “Iwaizumi-san, are you sure?”

“Yeah, when he was conscious he seemed like a good guy. I’ll make sure he doesn’t drown in his own vomit.”

They sigh in relief. “Oh, _thank you._ Thank you s _o much._ Okay, hold on. Let me text you the address.” Hajime again waits as Sugawara mutters to himself, catching only bits and pieces but gathering enough to know that starting tonight, Tetsurou better keep a very close eye on his balls. Within a few seconds, Hajime’s phone _dings_ with a new message.

“Did you get the text?”

“Yeah, just now. What about a key?”

Sugawara laughs guiltily. “Knowing them, they probably left the door unlocked.”

“Typical.”

The next laugh is more natural, and Hajime can hearthe smile in his voice. “Please, call me again if you have any trouble. Thank you, Iwaizumi-san. I’m sure if Tooru could he’d tell you the same thing.”

“Don’t mention it. Thanks for your help.”

Sugawara makes a weird sound of disagreement. “That’s unnecessary, but you’re welcome. I’ll call you in the morning to check up, okay? Goodnight, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Bye.”

Then Hajime stuffs the phone back into the stranger's pants pocket, looks down at the slumbering pain in his neck. There’s drool leaking out the corner of his mouth. Hajime pokes his cheek.

“Hey, Tooru. We’re gonna go home now.”

He’s surprised when Tooru squirms in response, moans low in his throat but doesn’t say anything.

“You gonna wake up?”

He actually opens his eyes the tiniest bit, tilts his head and looks up at Hajime blearily. “I want…some Oreos…” he slurs, his eyes nearly rolling in his head and he sets his cheek to rest against the tile again.

“Really? After you just barfed up everything in your stomach?”

“Don’t say that word,” he whispers.

“I have no idea how you survived to adulthood.”

 

~*~

 

It had taken some careful maneuvering, but Hajime was somehow able to hoist Tooru onto his back and piggyback him out of the frat to wait for the taxi on the front lawn. Not to say that it had been easy—Hajime was still feeling extremely woozy and uncoordinated, and he may have steered the two of them into several walls on the way.

But they make it out in one piece, and he sets Tooru down in the cool grass, wipes some of the sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeve and waits. The chilly air feels good on his heated skin, and it’s a little easier to keep his eyes open.

When the taxi arrives, by some miracle he gets Tooru into the backseat in a somewhat-vertical position, and he shows the driver the text from Sugawara. The apartment building is actually fairly close to the frat—walking, he’s guessing it’d be about fifteen or twenty minutes, but in the car they get there in a little over five.

He pays the driver and he drags Tooru out of the car, unsteadily hauls him up the two flights of stairs (he trips once, bangs his shin and stays there for two minutes to swear and catch his breath) and by the time he’s flinging open the right door he’s panting and feeling nauseous again.

“Where’s…your room…” he huffs, and to his surprise Tooru actually stirs against his back, lets out a hot breath into his ear.

“Second on the…right…” he murmurs before letting his head loll against Hajime’s shoulder. Hajime stumbles down the short hallway, shoves the door open, nearly trips the last few steps before dumping himself and his luggage into the bed. He notices vaguely that it’s extremely messy, the numerous blankets all messed up, but the mattress is soft and he sinks low into it, sighing in pleasure.

Now that Tooru’s safe and sound, all he has to do now is worry about finding a way to get home himself. He thinks about Lev and Kenma, and he realizes he never told them where was going. Lev’s probably knocked out in a ditch somewhere knowing him, but Kenma was probably really worried. Hajime takes out his phone, squinting at the light resembling a small sun, and he quickly shoots off a group text to let them know he’s alive and not to call the cops. He drops his phone onto his stomach, sighing heavily, and closes his eyes. Even though it’s messy the room smells good somehow, and he doesn’t really know what it is. All he knows is that it’s beyond comforting, and that it’s sufficiently lulling him to sleep. Well, he’s sure Tooru won’t mind if he crashes here for the night. It’s not like he could kick him out at least, in his current state.

Hajime cracks open an eye as he feels the mattress jostle, and then widens them more fully when he realizes that Tooru’s staring at him from above, propped up on his hands,  his eyes dark and heavily lidded. Hajime furrows his brows, opens his mouth, but before he can ask what the hell Tooru’s doing he face-plants directly into Hajime’s chest with a low grunt.

“Ow! Hey, get off!” He shoves at his shoulders, rolling him off his chest and he turns on his side to find Tooru smiling at him lazily. He’s reaching for Hajime, and he presses his palms flat against his chest, runs them down his stomach, nails scratching lightly, but Hajime grabs his wrists before they can get further than the top of his jeans.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Hajime deadpans, even as a part of him is kicking himself for stopping Tooru’s clumsy advancements. Now that’s he’s getting more and more sober, he can tell that this boy he’s been carting around all night is very handsome, beautiful even, and he can safely say in any other situation he wouldn’t mind Tooru’s hands down his pants.

“Make me feel good? Please?” Tooru breathes, leans forward and latches his lips onto the skin below Hajime’s jaw, kisses him there and works up his chin, is able to press one to the corner of Hajime’s mouth before Hajime gently takes his face in his hands and guides him away.

“I thought you said I smelled bad?” he says lightly, trying not to laugh as Tooru pouts.

“I don’t care about that anymore. I’m horny and you’re hot.”

“And you’re drunk and reek like barf. And so do I, for that matter. Go to sleep. Ask me again in the morning.”

Tooru groans, flips onto his back. “Ugh. Tetsurou would’ve fucked me.” His words are getting quieter and quieter as he fights off the sleep that’s so obviously trying to claim him.

“I don’t doubt it. He seems like a real gem.”

Tooru turns his head just the tiniest bit, his eyes heavy, and he licks his lips. “Just one kiss? Before bedtime. Please?” He asks, voice so quiet and kind of pathetic and Hajime gives in, leans over and gently sets their lips together. Tooru gives a happy little sound in his throat and reaches over to hold the back of Hajime’s head, to keep him there, but Hajime smiles and pulls away. Immediately, Tooru’s pouting.

“One more.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, reaches over and solidly flicks Tooru on the forehead, grins again when he lets out high-pitched squeak.

“Go to sleep, stupid.”

Tooru groans, and with what looks like takes the last of his energy he wriggles upwards until his head is half-way on his pillow at the top of the bed. “Fine. But you need’ta promise…that you’ll stay," he mumbles, the words nearly incoherent but Hajime translates them effortlessly.

He doesn’t bother mentioning that he was planning on staying regardless.

“Fine. I’ll stay.”

“You gotta…swear it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I swear.” Hajime yawns, all of his exhaustion hitting him at once and he can barely keep his eyes open.

Tooru just makes a pleased whine in response before promptly clocking out, his snores beginning immediately and Hajime can’t say he hates the noise.

There’s a pillow shaped like a dolphin wedged at the top next to Tooru’s regular pillow, and he tugs it out of the crack between the wall and bed, fluffs it up and flops his head down, heavy as lead.

It takes all of four seconds before he’s completely unconscious.

 

~*~

 

The next thing Hajime knows he’s woken with a jolt. It had felt like he had had his eyes closed for only seconds, but he knows it’s been at least several hours because he’s groggy and the room is a little bit brighter. He looks down to his left, at Tooru who’s lying spread-eagle and making one of the ugliest sleeping faces Hajime has ever seen and he nearly laughs out loud, but then he remembers why was so rudely woken— his bladder is _aching._ He shoots up from the bed, stumbles for a moment with vertigo and then he’s heading out into the hallway, looking through open doors until he finds the bathroom.

He’s still half-asleep as he takes care of his business, washes his hands in a daze, and vaguely notes the subtle pounding in his head and the way his mouth tastes like week-old roadkill. He cups his hands under the cool stream of water, splashes his face a few times, swishes some water in his mouth to make the dryness go away. It helps somewhat, and he takes a few sips as well before he turns off the bathroom light.

He pads back down the dark hallway, re-enters the room, and in the small amount of light coming through the window he can actually see the walls, and how they’re completely coated in paper.  Slightly curious, Hajime walks closer, and he realizes that most of the paper are certificates. Awards for what looks like volleyball, thank-you honors for community service teaching at an athletic center for kids. There are also newspaper clippings of articles raving about a reigning high school volleyball team, colored pictures of what looks like the very team that Tooru was evidently a part of. There are group shots, but most of them are candids—he finds that in the face of each person caught off guard there are nearly identical expressions of fond exasperation. There’s a lot of selfies with two people in particular—a striking boy with silver hair and a beauty mark underneath his eye, his smile always genuine, and another boy with jet-black hair that’s always styled to look like a bad case of bedhead. In each picture that Tooru appears in, his smile is perfect—bright white teeth, just the right amount of laughter in his eyes. But Hajime can’t shake the feeling that he's not quite as happy as his smile lets on. Looking at the many faces staring back at him, he can’t help but feel strangely connected to Tooru. He finds that it makes him sad.

He shakes his head, decides that he’s snooped through enough of Tooru’s memorabilia, and he’s about to fall back into bed when the name on one of the certificates catches his eye. The print is bold and black, the paper covered with a light gold sheen, and right in the center it reads: _Best Setter Award: Oikawa Tooru._

Oikawa Tooru? Hajime smiles a little. It’s funny, that this guy would have the same name as—and Hajime’s train of thought stops short, his stomach flipping, and he whips his head around to look at the figure in the bed, at the heart-shape of his face, the slope of his nose. He walks over to the bed to sit on the edge, sweeps the bangs to the side and the breath catches in his throat because he can’t believe it.

It _is._ This is _his_ Tooru.

And he can’t stop the very soft sob from coming up his throat, because it’s been ten years.

And it was his fault. 

 

~*~

 

When Tooru was ten years old, his best friend had been a boy named Hajime.

He remembers vividly the first, and last, time they had kissed.  It’s so fast, so light that Tooru almost wants to pass it off as a trick of the mind—it was late after all, nearly the early hours of the morning, and his eyes burned with the need to sleep and his breathing had already slowed down to deep, even gusts of air.

But even so, he just couldn’t have imagined it. Because he had definitely _felt_ it, the slight brush of dry lips against his own. And he had heard Hajime swallow nervously afterwards. He had seen as Hajime clutched the blanket that covered the both of them with his fist,  the scowl on his face that was desperately trying to cover up the way red was spreading across his cheekbones, bleeding down his ears and neck, even in the dark.

“What was that for, Iwa-chan?” Tooru mumbles, smiling a bit dopily. If he was dreaming, he had to admit it was a nice one.

“I just felt like it, is all.”

“Hmm.” Tooru hums, blinks slowly, and once his eyes are closed he finds he can’t find the strength to open them again.

“Okay.” He murmurs, finds Hajime’s hand and holds onto it like he always does, gives the back of his fingers a few brushes with his thumb.

“You don’t mind?”

Hajime sounds unsure, and Tooru moves them closer together because he knows that’s what Hajime wants. He always says Tooru is like his own personal heater. Sometimes he says that it’s gross, them sleeping together like this, because they always wake up drenched in sweat. But on a cold December night like this, the two of them sharing a futon on the floor, Tooru can tell Hajime is grateful for the heat that radiates from his skin.

Hajime’s close enough that Tooru knows that if he so much as nods, their noses would brush together.

“Of course I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Iwa-chan, I’m sleepy,” Tooru whines, gently butts his forehead against Hajime’s. It’s quiet, then a soft sigh.

“Fine.”

But Tooru smiles, and brings Hajime’s hand to cradle to his chest, holds it between both of his.

“Because it’s you.”

He hears Hajime scoff, yelps as he feels fingers give him a solid flick on the forehead.

“Go to sleep, stupid.”

And Tooru grins, already half-way gone. And then he drifts off, happy knowing Hajime will be the first thing he sees in the coming morning.

 

~*~

 

When Tooru wakes up, it’s this memory and the pounding of a million hammers in his head that greet him.

And he can feel his throat closing off the way it used to when he thought about Hajime. But that didn’t make sense. He hasn’t seen Hajime in, what? Ten years? More? He was supposed to have gotten over him by now. Maybe that was the problem with first loves—they have a way of staying with you.

He opens his crusty eyes, groaning, and sits up in his bed. He’s not under the covers, and he’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday. He reaches up to feel his hair, and it’s sticking up in the air like he’d been struck by lightning. Based on his state of appearance, and the way his head feels like he had repeatedly bashed it against a pile of bricks, he comes to the conclusion that last night must not have been kind to him. He blinks more sleep dust from his eyes, and looks to his right, and his stomach drops to see that on the bed, between him and the wall, is a sleeping boy.

But he was still completely clothed, and so was his bedmate. And he didn’t feel sore in any places he shouldn’t be. So that means nothing happened, right? Nothing serious, at least.

But Tooru kind of wishes that wasn’t the case, because upon closer inspection he finds that this boy is _gorgeous,_ and Tooru can’t stop his hand from automatically moving over and experimentally running his fingers through black hair. It’s soft, even though the shape of it is prickly like a pinecone.

He must not have been as gentle as he thought, because the boy grunts, and Tooru immediately withdraws his hand. But it’s too late, because he’s opening his eyes, and he looks up at Tooru for a moment before groaning. Tooru bites his lip, is about to apologize, but then to his complete and utter surprise the boy worms forward, wraps arms around his waist and buries his face into the side of Tooru’s stomach.

“Oikawa, go back to sleep. It’s like the buttcrack of dawn and I still haven’t recovered from carrying your sorry ass up all those stairs," he moans, slightly muffled from material covering his mouth.

Tooru means to push him away—he’s not huge about strangers touching him when his inhibitions aren’t blurred away by alcohol, and he knows the sweater he’s wearing must smell like vomit (there’s no way he didn’t vomit last night, not with the way his mouth is tasting right now). But instead he finds that his hand weaves its way into the boy’s hair again. He lightly scratches his nails across his scalp and he watches with slight fascination as the boy gives a tiny shiver, turns his face away from the sweater material but keeps himself pressed to Tooru’s hip.

“You had to carry me up the stairs?” he asks quietly, runs his hand down more to lightly tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. The skin below looks soft—he tentatively ghosts his fingertips across, and he’s right. It _is_ soft, and the boy sighs in a way that couldn’t be anything other than contentment.

“Yes, because your idiot face doesn’t know when enough is enough, and your roommate is a jackass and left you alone at a party so he could bone somebody. Unbelievable.”

Tooru blinks, suddenly remembers how Tetsurou had efficiently gotten him drunk the night before. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh.”_

Tooru swallows, waking up more, and he realizes he’s being extremely weird and touchy. Well, this guy wasn’t keeping his hands to himself either, but it’s freaking Tooru out how _okay_ he is with that. He removes his hand from the boy’s neck, shifts uncomfortably even as he lets out an airy laugh. 

“Um, I’m sorry. But, who exactly…?”

The guy loosens his arms, rolls onto his back and stares up at Tooru’s face, his expression unreadable but for the slight downturn of his mouth.

“It’s Iwaizumi.”

_Iwaizumi. That was Hajime’s family name._

He meets Iwaizumi’s eyes, and it seems like he’s waiting for Tooru to say something, because his eyebrows are furrowed but Tooru knows it’s because he’s focused, not angry. He doesn’t know how he knows that.

“And, uh. Can I ask what you're doing here in my bed, Iwaizumi-san?” he asks with a sly smile, trying to make his tone come off as teasing. He glances down to the bit of collarbone peeking out of Iwaizumi's neckline and his hands itch. 

Iwaizumi snorts, sits up abruptly and combs his fingers through his hair.

“Like I said, you passed out and Sugawara-san asked me to bring you home. And I stayed because you didn’t want me to leave." He says this last bit with a wry smile, and Tooru laughs, trying to cover up how embarrassed he is.

“Oh. Well, it sounds like we had quite the adventure! Thank you so much for helping me, Iwaizumi-san. I must’ve been something to see," he says lightheartedly, but his chest starts hurting because Iwaizumi looks disappointed and he doesn’t know why. Maybe he should ask him to stay for breakfast.  

He’s about to, but then Iwaizumi is crawling to the end of the bed and swinging his legs over the side. He looks over his shoulder, and Tooru quickly shuts his mouth.

“Don’t mention it. Well, I better get going. I’ll see you around.”

“Ah…oh. Okay. Sure. I’ll…see you.”

And then Iwaizumi slips out his bedroom, and Tooru waits until he hears the front door close before he flops back down, staring up at his ceiling and wondering at the pounding of his heart.

 

~*~

 

For whatever reason, ever since that morning, Tooru can’t forget about Iwaizumi.

It’s not like anything special happened between them. It had been evident that nothing physical had happened, and Iwaizumi hadn’t confessed his undying love or anything, so there wasn’t a good reason for Tooru to keep thinking about him at frequent intervals. Something was niggling at him. Something about Iwaizumi was inherently familiar, and he couldn’t put his finger on what. He wanted to see him again, to see if he could figure it out, but he really was a perfect stranger. He knew his family name, and that’s it. No address, no phone number. He didn’t know his major or if he had a job somewhere. Hell, he didn’t even know his first name. There was a very high chance they’d never meet again.

Tooru drops his spoon in his bowl of cereal, sighs heavily before leaning back into his chair at the kitchen table. He looks over at Koushi, who’s only eaten one-half of his toast, and he’s smiling as he types something out on his phone. Tooru sighs again, makes sure to make it loud and theatrical. He waits expectantly, but Koushi just laughs at whatever’s on his screen and Tooru grows impatient. He’s irritated that Koushi isn’t detecting his foul mood and trying to comfort him, something he's very good at.

“Who’re you texting?” Tooru asks casually, loads his spoon with cereal and milk and lets it dribble back into his bowl.

“Hmm?” Koushi looks up from his phone, like he had forgotten Tooru was even there. “Oh, I’m texting Iwaizumi-kun. He’s really funny.”

Tooru straightens up immediately, feels something sour curdle in his belly. “Iwaizumi-san? What’re you doing texting him?”

His words come out sounding more jealous than he anticipated, and Koushi raises his eyebrow.

“We’re talking about you, actually.”

“Let me see!”

Tooru's hand shoots out to snatch the phone before Koushi gets a chance to reply, and Tooru half-hears him sigh resignedly. He eagerly scans the screen, but as he scrolls through the conversation he can clearly see that they’re _not_ talking about him, they’re talking about fucking _Tetsurou_ and some kid named Kenma. He knows his disappointment’s showing on his face.

“Why do you feel the need to tease me, Kou-chan?” Tooru wails, slumps dramatically onto the chair, still clenching Koushi’s phone as he flings an arm over his eyes with despair.

“Because you’re fun to tease.”

Tooru pokes his tongue out at Koushi who smiles, gets up from the table to throw away their uneaten food and wash the dishes. Tooru frowns, raises the phone to continue reading. Iwaizumi’s weirdly formal with his texting, like Koushi. He finds himself with the bitter thought that if Daichi didn’t exist, the two of them would be a good match.

He knows he’s being weirdly obsessive. He barely knew this guy. But Iwaizumi’s eyes had been so beautiful, that dark brown that was almost black and they sparkled, and his voice had been deep and steady, and the sound of it stirred something in Tooru’s stomach. And he was also so obviously kind—how many people would do what he did? Tooru knows himself well. While he can’t remember that night, he has no doubt drunk-Tooru had found Iwaizumi as beautiful as sober-Tooru found him. Drunk-Tooru was something of a vixen—there was no way he didn’t make a move. And knowing him, it hadn’t been subtle. But Iwaizumi hadn’t taken advantage of him even when he had basically gift-wrapped himself, hadn’t asked him for anything in return for his kindness. He was definitely something special.

And then there was that easy familiarity, the kind that had let a perfect stranger cuddle his face into Tooru’s sweater even as it reeked of vodka and vomit. He made Tooru feel safe and warm, the little time they had spent in each other’s company.

And it was driving him up the wall, because it  _wasn't_ normal, it wasn't  _supposed_ to feel so natural and easy. Nobody  _ever_ came easy to Tooru—he was good at pretending, but real trust and real friendships took him a long time. It had taken years before he had been able to rely on Koushi and Tetsurou the way he does now. Because a long time ago, someone had left him, and ever since he hasn't been able to put his full faith in anybody. Not since _him_. 

Tooru flicks his eyes up the screen to read the first message Koushi had exchanged with Iwaizumi, because he thinks that maybe he had spotted his name somewhere in there, and he freezes. The name at the top of the screen read _Iwaizumi Hajime._

“Iwaizumi Hajime?” Tooru breathes. No. It just couldn’t be.

Koushi returns to the table, stretches to pop his back and he sighs happily. “Do you know him?”

“His first name is Hajime? Are you sure?”

Koushi looks at him strangely. “Yeah. He said he wanted my full name for his contact info so I asked for his as well.”

Tooru swallows, his throat dry as sand and he thinks back, thinks as hard as he can back to the night he can barely remember. It’s blurry, but he can tell Iwaizumi had been there—sees his vague outline, hears his voice as if from underwater, just the resonance but no words. Except there _are_ words, just four, which he can hear ringing in his ears as if they had just been spoken. They had been light and tainted with the effects of fond laughter.

_"Go to sleep, stupid.”_

Tooru covers his face with his hands. “Oh, my god.”

 

~*~

 

It’s so hot. The cicadas are deafening, and the rare gusts of wind bring no relief from the heavy, damp heat. But the heat doesn’t touch Hajime, because his whole body feels frozen. He’s so cold.

“Iwa-chan, I can’t do fifth grade without you.” Tooru’s sobbing, snot leaking out his nose and his mouth is slobbering, but Hajime presses his face into his shoulder regardless. They’re standing outside the gates of Hajime’s soon-to-be old house. There’s a moving truck in the driveway, and the sliding door is open, and Hajime’s supposed to help his parents move boxes to the truck within the hour.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

“But we’re gonna start long divison! I can’t do long divison! I need you to help me!”

“You know Matsukawa will help you if you ask him.”

“But his eyebrows are distracting! I won’t be able to get any work done!”

“Oikawa.”

Tooru wails, shakes his head against Hajime’s shoulder, and the horrible sound makes Hajime’s heart ache and he can’t stop the tears from pricking his own eyes.

“ _Tooru.”_

At that he pauses, hiccups a couple times, and he looks up, his face wet and eyes nearly completely enveloped in swollen red.

“W-w-what?” he warbles, bottom lip trembling like a leaf and Hajime sighs, hikes up the hem of his t-shirt and roughly wipes at Tooru’s face, and Tooru makes sounds of protest but doesn’t move away.

“Do you really think me moving means we’re not gonna be friends anymore?”

Tooru looks away miserably, scuffs his tennis shoes against the concrete. “You’re g-gonna make cooler friends than m-me. A-and you’ll f-forget about me," he says quietly, looking up at Hajime through his eyelashes and Hajime frowns fiercely, reaches forward and forcefully pinches Tooru’s cheek between his fingers.

“Owww! Iwa-chan, stop it!”

“Not if you keep saying stupid stuff like that.”

Tooru swats Hajime’s hand away, rubs at his cheek and glares. He takes a deep, wavering breath. “You can’t forget about me, Iwa-chan. Please don’t forget about me. You gotta swear it.” And then he aggressively sticks out his pinky finger, all but yells into Hajime’s face. “Say it! Swear it!”

Hajime sees how serious Tooru’s being, so he hastily hooks their pinkies together, shakes their hands up and down. “I swear.”

“Now seal it with a kiss!”

The two of them tip their wrists and the pads of their thumbs come together.

“I swear it,” Hajime repeats, swallows down the sobs building in his throat before adding quietly, “There’s no way I could possibly forget you.” And Hajime holds Tooru’s head to his shoulder again, lets him cry himself dry, presses his nose into the thick hair that smells like sweat and strawberries.

After a while Tooru stills, his breathing ragged and he sniffs. “I’m going to miss you so much," he whispers, his voice raspy from crying. He’s gripping Hajime’s shirt between damp fists, undoubtedly stretching it out, but Hajime could care less.

“Me too,” Hajime says quietly, trying desperately to keep himself together. He doesn’t need to make Tooru even more sad.

Tooru pulls away slightly, looks at him seriously. “I love you, Iwa-chan," he says, his voice loud even though it’s unsteady and Hajime’s stomach flips. He can’t hold it back this time as tears start skidding down his cheeks.

“…I love you, too, Tooru.”

 

~*~

 

Hajime doesn’t really know why he didn’t tell Tooru who he was.

Maybe it was childish of him, hoping that once Tooru heard his family name he’d immediately realize who he was. It was unfair, because it’s not like Hajime had realized right away either. It had been a stupid move, but what’s done was done, and it’s not like he could pop back to Tooru’s apartment with a bashful, “ _Oh, right. I forgot to tell you the other day, but it’s me, Iwaizumi Hajime, your childhood best friend who broke all contact. Nice to see you again.”_

He steps out of the shower, droplets rolling down his stomach and he stares at them. He doesn’t even know what he’d say. How would he act? Would he act the same? He admits he had let himself get carried away that morning, what with all the touching. But it had felt right, like it was the natural thing to do, and only looking back on it now does Hajime see it the way Tooru must’ve seen it: clingy and creepy.

He slips on a pair of boxers, steps out of the bathroom and pads to the living room. Lev’s on the couch, watching re-runs of some 90’s show, and he’s eating from a bucket of chicken. He pauses as Hajime enters the room, licks sauce off his fingers.

“You want any?” he asks, holds the bucket out in Hajime’s direction. There’s sauce around his mouth and Hajime wrinkles his nose.

“No, thanks.”

Lev plops the bucket back in his lap happily, reaches inside for another one.

“Good. I was just askin’ to be nice.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, is just running a towel through his hair when he hears a knock at the front door. He looks pointedly at Lev, who pretends to be oblivious, takes a huge bite out of a dripping thigh.

“Lev. Get the door.”

“I’m busy.”

“I’m basically naked.”

“Then whoever’s there is lucky. You have nice nipples.”

“Fuck you.”

Hajime angrily flings his towel in the direction of Lev's stupid face and heads towards the door.

“Bammin’ slammin’ bootylicious!” Lev calls after him, and Hajime flashes his middle finger behind his back.

The knocking gets louder, quick staccato beats and Hajime grumbles. “Coming, coming…” He grips the handle, flings the door open wide with his annoyance, and his mouth pops open with surprise. “Oikawa?”

And then Tooru is shoving past Hajime, his brows pulled low over his eyes angrily. He whirls around, teeth bared. “You lied to me.”

Hajime closes the door more softly, folds his arms across his chest. “How so?”

“You said that we were gonna stay friends no matter what.”

_So he found out._

Hajime stares at him for a moment, at all the little things about him that are different. He’s grown so much that he’s even taller than Hajime now, when Hajime had always been the taller of the two growing up. His shoulders are broad, and his voice has deepened, and all the crookedness of his teeth has been straightened to perfection.  He thinks about the smiles he saw in the photographs on Tooru’s wall, remembers how they look so much less radiant now as an adult. Growing up is hard for everybody, but it looks like it hit Tooru particularly hard.

_My fault, my fault._

Hajime then looks at what stayed the same. He’s still got that clump of freckles on his jawline, close to his ear, and he still gets that wrinkle on the bridge of his nose when he’s angry. From what Hajime can see from where he’s standing it looks like Tooru still picks at his cuticles, to quell his anxiety, and his hair’s still doing that swooping thing. He does a good job of trying to tame it, but Hajime can see that he still hasn’t managed to get that one cowlick at the back of his head to lay flat.

He’s grown so much, gone through so much, that he might as well be a different Tooru than the one that he used to know. But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels the same, like breathing, and he can’t get himself to act like he’s talking to a stranger.

“Are you saying we’re not friends? Because it doesn’t look that way to me," Hajime says flatly, watches in fascination at the familiar flare of nostrils.

“You said that—no, you _swore_ that you wouldn’t forget about me, _Hajime,_ " Tooru seethes, using the name mockingly, and now Hajime’s angry too. He narrows his eyes, nails digging into his forearms. “And I _haven’t_ forgotten about you, _Tooru._ I swore I never would, and I never have.”

“You stopped talking to me!” Tooru screams, his eyes teary and Hajime opens his mouth to retort but he finds he has no good excuse for that. He sighs, suddenly exhausted, and he drops his arms.

“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry.”

“Why would you do that, Iwa-chan?”

The sound of his old nickname has him biting into his bottom lip, heart quaking. He’s thinking of how to reply when he becomes aware that they’re not alone. He looks to Lev, whose eyes are the size of dinner plates and his hands are braced beside him like he’s ready to run the second he finds an opening, bucket of chicken on the floor, forgotten.

“Lev, leave.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” And then he’s sprinting down the hall and slamming his bedroom door shut within seconds.

Hajime glances back to Tooru hesitantly, decides the best way to deal with this was to tell him the truth. “I…I thought moving was the best way for me to get a fresh start. So I let us drift apart, and I’m sorry if that hurt you.”

“Why would you want us to drift apart?” Tooru demands.

Hajime looks away. “We depended on each other too much. I thought it would be for the best,” he lies, knows Tooru isn’t gonna buy a single word. He’s right.

“You’re so full of shit.” Tooru laughs bleakly. “You know, Iwa-chan. During fifth grade, the year you left, I started playing volleyball. My mom saw that I was depressed, and she thought it would take my mind off things.” He takes a few steps closer, and Hajime takes a few steps away until his back hits the wall. He feels cornered.

“And it did help. And it was fun, and I was good at it. But it was hard too. And during those times there was no one else I wanted to talk to but you.”

Hajime winces, guilt swimming in his belly, and opens his mouth hesitantly. “I…”

But Tooru cuts him off before he can get out a single word. He closes the distance between them in two big steps, wraps his shaking hands around the tops of Hajime’s arms and again Hajime marvels at the fact that he has to look slightly up to meet his eyes.  “I missed you!” Tooru yells, brings his face closer threateningly and Hajime’s heart leaps into his throat. “I _needed_ you!” he snarls, and just as quick as his anger appears it’s gone again—his hands become limp, his arms falling back down to his sides. “And you weren’t there.”

Hajime swallows, his throat dry. “I don’t deny that.”

And Hajime’s admission seems to throw Tooru off—he blinks twice in confusion, and then Hajime watches as he drops down to the carpeted floor, legs crossed, and he holds his head in his hands. “I don’t understand. Did I do something? Was it me?” he whispers, bites his trembling bottom lip and then Hajime’s kneeling in front of him, quickly brushing his hands through Tooru’s hair once before settling them on his shoulders.

“No, no, Oikawa. Of course it wasn’t you, oh _Tooru,_ don’t cry.” He’s begging, trying to stop the tears he knows won’t stop once they start but he’s already too late, because a big fat one leaks out the corner of Tooru’s eye.

“What did I do to make you hate me?” he asks, voice cracking, and it breaks Hajime’s heart.

“That’s not— _no_ Tooru, I _loved_ you!” Hajime’s arms are trembling and he just wants to be closer to Tooru but he knows he doesn’t have the right.

“You didn’t act like it," he croaks, wipes his eyes with the back of his wrist and Hajime can see that his nose is already running.

Hajime needs to tell him. The whole truth. He can’t keep pretending like Tooru’s memory hasn’t been haunting him all this time. They had been separated physically for ten years. But seeing him now, feeling the trembling underneath his hands, it's clear as day that he was delusional in thinking he was ever able to truly escape. That he had ever really left Tooru in the past. 

He licks his lips, drops his hands from Tooru’s shoulders. “No, I mean. I loved you in a different way than the way you loved me.”

And Tooru visibly flinches as if Hajime had struck him. It looks like he’s cowering—he doesn’t meet Hajime’s eyes. “I…didn’t know you knew about that.”

Hajime lets out a breath. This is hurting him. But he can’t turn back now that he’s started. “How could I not know? It was so obvious you only ever saw me as a close friend, and I just _couldn’t_ keep pretending like that was all it was. I was just a kid, and I felt so guilty after kissing you—“

“Wait, what?”

And Hajime looks up from where he’d been staring at Tooru’s knees (there was a Hello Kitty band-aid on one) and he meets Tooru’s eyes. “What do you mean, ‘what’?” he asks warily.

“Do you mean to tell me that you _like-liked_ me?” Tooru demands, his expression almost angry again and Hajime feels a little bewildered.

“Uh, yeah?”

“And do you mean to tell me that you stopped talking to me so you could stew in your man-pain?” 

Hajime actually feels himself blushing. “ _Fuck,_ that's not—that’s not at all what I said, but if you wanna put it that way, then fine.”

Tooru frowns. “So you honestly didn’t know that I liked you too?”

“ _You—"_ Hajime stares at him, the two of them making mirroring faces of surprise and regret. “Oh. I…I didn’t know.”

“Same here.” Tooru’s looking at Hajime with wonder, and Hajime glances away, embarrassed, and he removes his hands from Tooru’s shoulders. He coughs awkwardly. 

“That…that probably would’ve been nice to know. Like ten years ago.”

“Yeah, well. Nothing we can do about it now,” Tooru says, seems to remember his current state because he sniffs and hurriedly wipes away the residual tears from his face.

Hajime stands, extends his hands and Tooru takes them, gets to his feet, his eyes never once leaving Hajime’s face. The tips of his fingers linger at Hajime’s palm before they let go. “That kind of sucks. But for some reason, it makes me feel better,” Hajime says quietly, half to himself. Tooru hums.

“Me too. I always wondered what happened to us.”

Hajime cringes, stares at the curve of Tooru's cheek instead of meeting his eyes. “I really am sorry. For ignoring your calls and never visiting. For everything," he says, knows he sounds pained. He doesn’t like saying sorry, and he’s been doing it a lot today.

But Tooru actually smirks, waves his hand flippantly. “Apology not accepted. Sorry, Iwa-chan, but it’s gonna take a lot more than a couple of ‘sorry’s to make up for years and years’ worth of emotional trauma.”

Hajime frowns, anxious, before Tooru sees his expression and _laughs._ Hajime had forgotten how the sound seems to bubble up from his core, how his nose crinkles and his smile looks like it takes up half his face as he laughs. It’s completely bewitching. “I’m talking ice cream, on you, whenever I want. Starting now. D’you have anything yummy in your freezer?” Without asking, Tooru lopes off into Hajime’s kitchen, and Hajime follows. He finds him digging around through their frozen foods, muttering, “cold, cold” under his breath. 

Hajime scowls to hide the grin that’s splitting his mouth without his consent. “I think Lev’s got some mochi hidden somewhere in there.”

Tooru makes a happy sound of discovery, holds up the very box for Hajime to see. “It’ll have to do for now. I think I’m gonna take a couple for the road.” He pops open the cardboard, slides out the tray that holds the little balls of ice cream.

Hajime leans against the wall. “How’d you even get my address? I never gave it to Sugawara-kun," he says, and Tooru glances over at him, one of the treats already half-way to his mouth. He looks marginally embarrassed.

“I got it from Tetsurou, who got it from your roommate Kozume-san. Since they’re apparently some weird thing now.”

So that rooster-haired guy actually managed to win Kenma over? Unbelievable.

Hajime's lip curls. “Ugh. How did that even happen.”

Tooru laughs, shrugs one shoulder. “Beats me.”  

He shoves the box back in the freezer and walks through the front room again to the door, licking off the flour coating the dough of the mochi. He’s humming as he pats his back pocket, the jingle of keys tinkling in reply. He turns around to face Hajime, looking expectant. Hajime squints, rubs the back of his head awkwardly.

“Well, you know where I live. So…feel free to stop by anytime.”

Tooru smiles, and Hajime just _knows_ that it’s genuinely happy. “The same goes for you. And…I’ll let you know when I want more ice cream.”

“Cool. It’s a date.”

The words are out before he can stop them, and he presses his lips together contritely but Tooru just laughs again.

“It’s a date," he echoes with a mischievous grin, and then he waves grandly before he closes the door behind him.

“Idiot hasn’t changed one bit,” Hajime murmurs fondly, then makes a mental note to go to the store soon and pick up some of Tooru’s favorite ice cream.

He’s gonna need a lot.

 

~*~

 

It’s been a little over four months of pure bliss, and Tetsurou  _still_ has no fucking clue how he got so lucky as to score an amazing guy like Kenma. He was quiet, but you’d have to be blind not to see how sassy he was, and the way his tongue poked out when he played his games was so stinkin’ _cute,_ and he was just so _flexible…_

He hums a little tune as he skips up the stairs of the apartment building. Kenma was coming over later, so he had to clean his room (Kenma had refused to enter his room the first time he visited—he claimed that if he did he’d catch the Black Plague) and double-check his stash of condoms and lube. If everything went the way he was hoping it’d go, he’d need them later.

Tetsurou wiggles the doorknob, pleased that it gives easily and steps inside. Still humming, he flicks on the light. And immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Tooru has a really nice ass—he’s seen it on more than one occasion, several of them under less-than-innocent circumstances. But he really didn’t need to see it in all its naked glory when it was sat on the lap of that Iwaizumi guy on their living-room couch, their chests plastered together, faces flushed and dripping sweat.

“T-Tetsurou! Get out! Get out!” Tooru’s squawking, and his boyfriend’s just staring open-mouthed, his face the color of a ripe tomato. Tetsurou can feel his face heating up as well.

“Oh _shit,_ my bad, I didn’t know. Let me get out of your hair.” He quickly averts his eyes, walks as quickly as he can towards the hallway and his subsequent freedom from this choking awkwardness. But just as he reaches the archway he chuckles, turns back to them with a smirk. He can't resist. “Just a word of advice. Maybe next time you should lock the door.”

He gets a throw pillow flung into his face. “ _Leave!”_

Tetsurou laughs as he ducks his head and makes his speedy escape.

_So worth it._

**Author's Note:**

> wow, look at me, two fics and a chapter update within a MONTH. incredible.  
> honestly, i love writing iwaoi, it just flows so naturally and it feels so EASY. it's nice. (・◇・)  
> title comes from "once upon a december" lyrics from the movie anastasia! I always found that song very haunting and beautiful, so i thought i'd use lyrics for this title!
> 
> this au idea came from this (http://smileyeeyore.tumblr.com/post/112398409045) list from textsfromlastnight.com by tumblr user dominodamsel! If anyone's wondering why I don't just link directly to their page it's because for some reason the original post doesn't show up there *shrugs* either way, it's a nice list with a lot of good au ideas so check it out!
> 
> And come talk to me on tumblr! smileyeeyore.tumblr.com! I looooveee talkin to people so COME AT ME. PLEASE.


End file.
